


On Ice

by adara



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, New York City, Post-Canon, Post-Inception, Secret Saito Gift Exchange, dream husbands, in which they are foodies, seasonal fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/pseuds/adara
Summary: In which Arthur & Eames are working in New York during the festive season and things do not go according to plan.This was written as part of the 2017 Secret Saito for writlarge with the prompt “clasp”





	On Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritLarge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritLarge/gifts).



> This was written as part of the 2017 Secret Saito for writlarge. The prompt was “clasp” and I hope this will do. Shout out to thingsbeginningwitha for stepping in to beta for me.
> 
> Standard Disclaimer: Regrettably, I do not own Inception nor any of the establishments portrayed in this piece. If you see any errors, please let me know.

“Eames, why do I let you talk me into these things?” Arthur said, mostly into his scarf.

Though it was loud enough around them with the hustle and bustle of the other tourists that Eames could have feigned not having heard the cashmere-muffled grumble at all, he chose instead to nod to his well bundled companion and respond.

“What’s that, Arthur? The Burberry mummy wrapping you’re sporting makes it hard to decipher, but I’m fairly certain that you said you love doing reconnaissance with me because you hold my great attention to detail and resulting success rates in the highest regard,” he tutted out, his voice dripping in innocence and amusement at once.

The scarf was pulled down infinitesimally by a leather-gloved hand and an offended sound escaped from within its confines, “It’s Tom Ford and you know it.”

“Quite right, Arthur. That would be because I gave it to you, yes?” Eames smirked at him and slid his arm over Arthur’s shoulder to pull him closer to his side and a bit more out of the way of the passers by. “It’s not _that_ cold, love. Just keep moving.”

“It’s January. In New York. It absolutely _is_ that cold. I’m frozen solid.”

Eames ran his hands up and down Arthur’s arms in an attempt to warm him. Eames was feeling fine in his hoodie sans hat, scarf or gloves. This was not an outing that required Eames to be in a suit. He was taking full advantage of this opportunity to parade around in an outfit more befitting a mid-90’s university campus while Arthur, ever pristine, would not part from his preferred wardrobe. Excluding only the careful removal of a jacket at risk of creasing and the rolling up of sleeves when Arthur was well into his work, one would be hard pressed to say he was ever anything less than perfectly presentable.

How could Arthur be cold with all these layers of fine fabrics and fibers? Eames thought it was a gorgeously brisk evening, but not exactly as unwelcoming as Arthur was making it out to be. He was bundled very sharply, crisp black coat with that pretentious olive scarf. Eames loved that scarf so much on him that he’d purchased this replacement after its predecessor had been bled upon when used as an Eamesian makeshift tourniquet. He wasn’t quite as mummy wrapped as Eames had implied, but it was a near thing, and keeping his hands firmly stuffed in his pockets probably was not helping matters at all. He was damaging his air of perfection at the moment though, stubbornly refusing to budge. The sweeping flow of the surrounding people at the tail end of New York’s peak tourist season continued on around them with barely a side eye in their direction. 

“Arthur,” he practically purred at him. “Darling, sweet Arthur. Please do get up. Nobody likes a quitter and I promise you’ll warm up if you just move!”

Eames stood up as he finished his sing-song encouragement, seeming to glow with the light of the Rockefeller Christmas tree towering behind him. That thing really was quite enormous. What a shame they cut the old things down each year. He reached both of his bare hands down to clasp Arthur’s gloved ones and helped him up as people of all ages continued to skate around them at varying speeds.

A young girl in leggings, a tutu and a light sweater even blew a raspberry at them while skating backwards. She clearly did not approve of his flail and drop technique. Arthur was detail-oriented. He was a perfectionist. He was not to be outdone by a pixie on ice. The girl surely had some formal training in her few years of life, he was sure. He could do this even without that edge. He was a professional and he was absolutely going to stand up again, albeit not at all adroitly. This was supposed to be easy. This was supposed to be like a scene from one of those tasteless holiday films Eames insisted weren’t all that bad.

He allowed himself one last huff of protest before Eames helped hoist him fully upright. Eames on ice was as graceful and impeccable in his movements and balance as Arthur usually was in his appearance. The tables had turned this chilly evening and Eames found himself taking point in their endeavor. Arthur wavered on his skates for a moment more, took a steadying breath and skated forward in minute shuffles. He tried, as Eames had so simply instructed, to just move. He stayed as near the edge as possible, not touching but definitely attempting to stay within arms reach lest he topple once more. He’d been clutching Eames’ sleeve in one hand since his last near fall. After they had been lapped two more times by the tutu-ed pixie, Arthur sighed resignedly.

“We haven’t been doing all that well from this vantage point, Eames. This was a terrible plan. We can get closer, you said. I need to hear his inflections when he speaks to her, you said. I need to be able to recreate his precise movements and the angle of his skates, you said. Can’t see enough from just the Rockefeller Center sidewalk, you said. Let’s just pop down and play at a little skate, you said.” His whole face crinkled in consternation, followed by a less frustrated sigh. “You’ve got to leave me, Eames. I can get what I need off the ice, but you can’t and I’m holding you back. We will be here until we freeze to death.”

“And you’re being mocked by rude children,” he added unhelpfully, with his signature crooked smile. “No need to panic, love. We are fine and the mark is oblivious to our attempts at festive couples skating.”

Eames had not even paused to wonder if Arthur could skate when they needed to detour down to the rink to continue their observation under the guise of a tourist couple. He’d charmed their way onto the rink through the VIP igloo even without the mandatory reservations. The concierge seemed quite taken with his accent and the tale he’d stage whispered about this being his last night in the States and some ruined grand romantic gesture, with a nod towards Arthur. The con was surely helped along by the passing of more than enough bills to cover the extortionist-like fee for this little endeavor. However, once they’d donned their respective skates and entered the rink it was quickly obvious there would be no romancing and, in fact, none of the actual reconnaissance that Eames had meant for them to be doing either.

“Eames-“

“Darling, I would never leave you. But if you insist, I can be done in, let’s say, three passes. I’d be fine in one. but I already know you’re going to say I need to be extremely thorough and to focus more on the specificity, all those tiny details.”

He gave Arthur’s hand a squeeze and Arthur nudged him onward. He swanned off like, well, a swan. His movements were so harmonious and controlled that Arthur would not have been surprised to learn that Eames had either taken lessons for himself once or, more likely, as part of some past job. He was a sight to behold, even in his ghastly ensemble. Honestly, who walks into a heated igloo dressed like Pauly Shore’s lost frat brother and gets away with it. The jeans were quite nice though, especially as he skated. Arthur gave up the jig as a bad do and pulled himself along the wall to the exit. He happily returned the skates to the concierge, his relief hidden behind his scarf even though he was currently ensconced in the warmth of the igloo. Never again.

Arthur paused for a few minutes at one of the large paned windows of the room and noticed that the devilish pixie child continued to make faces with each pass. Honestly, if they were going to call it an igloo shouldn’t they make some show of making it resemble one instead of a greenhouse? Eames followed him into the warmth soon after, true to his word. He took up Arthur’s hand again as they left the warmth of the building.

Christmas and New Years had come and gone, but the tree was still up for the rest of the week and the tourists were still making the rounds. They’d welcomed in the new year back at their hotel far from the madness and televised crowds of Times Square and today they were back to work, finalizing details for their current job. The tourists were too taken with the real sights to pay any mind to the buoyantly happy man and his more stern-looking companion either while flailing about on the ice or while up and about with the rest of the foot traffic. Look at the rink, the golden statue, the best spots for selfies, keep moving. Move with the masses as another anonymous face, just a part of the throng.

“I was thinking-“

“That we should drink our way through the four different gourmet hot chocolates in this concourse and rank them on our way uptown for dinner?” Arthur finished for him, leaning into his side once more and giving the hand that still clasped his a quick, loving squeeze.

Eames was positively gleeful, “Levain or Serendipity? My unhealthy habits are rubbing off on you, petal.” 

“When in Rome, Mr. Eames.”

They shared a kiss and a selfie in front of the tree, both playing up their touristy cover and not. They decided quickly that Jacques Torres had the most delicious hot chocolate because it was basically just melted chocolate in a cup and that cookies the size of their faces were a perfectly respectable dinner choice for grown men. This may have been partly because the hostess at Serendipity literally laughed when they tried to call for a table or partly because Arthur had heard Eames make the most scandalous moan he’d ever heard in public when enjoying a fresh chocolate chip from some bakery. This had transpired roughly two years prior when they had been on one of their nightly check-in calls that they had taken to when they had jobs separate from one another.

Arthur had actually dropped his phone at the familiar sound, and once Eames had recovered from his cookie bite, he declared that he absolutely must bring Arthur here as soon as their standard blackout window had passed after that job.  Eames had tried to argue a few months later, at a less impressive bakery in Chicago, that technically that job had been in Brooklyn so surely they could stop off in Manhattan proper to hit the spot without any fuss. Arthur had already filed away the location on his mental Eames’ must-have list for New York but he nudged it up a few slots on the list after that.

***

It didn’t do in their line of work to have traceable habits or places anyone could pin down as frequented. They were still taking jobs often enough that they didn’t have to worry about that, coupled with the generally high staff-turnover rates in the foodservice industry. They weren’t considered recognizable regulars anywhere. They’d been to most major cities both together and separately, as their work or whims dictated.

It had come to pass that they had honed their skills to include delighting one another with finds from each city on their off hours, when separated from the prying eyes of the rest of their team.  Eames kept a mental list of both his favorites and Arthur’s. Eames liked to think that Arthur’s methods were more concrete. Surely he had a moleskine somewhere under heavy guard which detailed all the things that brought him joy and the best ways to bring a smile to Eames’ face anywhere in the globe.

In New York, it included that heavenly-scented Harlem cookie joint, the marshmallow place in that sketchy warehouse in Queens where once he’d gotten to pet an actual live rabbit, and the ridiculously tight little Serendipity cafe by the tram that went over the East River to Roosevelt Island. That last one had unfortunately been popularized by what Arthur deemed to be an awful John Cusack movie, which had resulted in their inability to get a spur of the moment table at this time of year. It was probably for the best, as it tended to be even more crammed with an excessive amount of holiday decor around this time making it an even tighter fit, but Eames always waxed poetic about the hot chocolate that he insisted Arthur simply must have and a sundae made with actual gold.

***

“Good food and good people,” Eames had once declared, “are all it takes to be happy.”

Arthur had cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows had risen up toward his slicked back hairline and his bottom lip had unconsciously been pulled between his teeth. Eames had laughed warmly at the sight.

“Ah, yes, love. Can’t forget the work. Busy bees are happy bees and all. The massive payouts don’t hurt either, if I do say. Predisposes us to be able to enjoy all the good food and globe trotting we do.”  

“Yes, Eames. Tell me more of this fairytale life we lead. I believe you’ve entirely forgotten that we’re currently still laying low from that delight of a Singapore job you roped me into and are not, in fact, on holiday.”

That had been a few jobs back and they’d grown in many ways, their identification of preferences for the ideal dining locations definitely being one. He’d read somewhere food was the way to a man’s heart. Whoever said that wasn’t wrong. Eames learned that Arthur was a sucker for good chocolate, was truly particular about it to be honest. Eames treasured each fact he learned, each facet of Things Arthur Likes that he could painstakingly preserve in his memory for future use.

He learned just where to order a nice selection of bonbons when he needed to soften the blow prior to announcing he’d accepted yet another job with at least one team member that Arthur, who was nearly always right, had predicted would idiotically complicate the job or wholly send it tits up. He learned that Arthur was very picky about baked ziti and would not eat sushi unless it was required by a cover. Arthur absolutely preferred diner food over Michelin-starred restaurants, despite all appearances to the contrary. Eames learned that Katz’s latkes were just as much worth the wait and fanfare as he had first shown Arthur that the cinnamon brioche from Levain is, especially first thing in the morning.

They continued to surprise each other with bits from their respective must-have lists and new places to be explored on the off hours. They were business as usual on the job. The only time they included anyone else in their outings were the very rare occasions that one or both of them were working a job with Ariadne. She had excellent taste and could be trusted with a few of their favorite locations, for sure. She could also be trusted not to use them as leverage against the other and also to recommend generally spot on places she’d found on her own travels. The jobs requiring all three of their expertise were few and far between though, so her friendship came in small doses.

***

After they boarded the B train and were well en route to their destination Eames attempted to redirect their conversation back on task. He aimed to fill Arthur in on any details he needed from Eames’ additional laps on their harrowing bout at the rink back at Rockefeller, however, Arthur silenced him by pulling the scarf back down and giving him another kiss. It was not normally Eames who was the work-focused one of the two of them.

“Need I remind you, Mr. Eames, that I am frozen solid from both our excursion and the walk to the subway. I could not write any of this down in my moleskine, even if I wanted to.” He paused for effect, rubbing his hands together in a mock display of prolonged chilliness in the uncomfortably warm and humid subway car. “Besides which, we’re off the clock. I’m on my dinner break and I have it on good authority that I’m a terror when I’m not well fed. I must have these supposedly majestic cookies of which you speak so highly before I could even think of work again.”

Eames smiled broadly and gave him a sound kiss, jarred slightly by the car lurching to a halt at the next stop. “They _are_ majestic, darling. An experience. Why must you injure me so?”

Arthur smirked, “We’ll see about that. Maybe they’re just okay.”

“Shirking your duties tonight, love. No skating. No notes. Questioning my untarnished judgement of baked goods.” He put the back of his hand to the bit of Arthur’s forehead which was exposed below the rim of his hat. “Are you feeling quite well? Are you sure you have the details for all 47 contingency plans in place, nothing amiss?”

Arthur rolled his eyes at Eames’ mocking tone, “Eames, this is quite possibly the simplest job we’ve ever been hired for. You and I both know we had enough to go on well before we made it onto that rink _and_ that I don’t require use of my hands to file away all the necessary notes I need to pull anything off. It’s my job, after all.” He paused with an affronted huff, “And of course all 47 contingencies are lined up. I regret ever telling you that fact. I’ll never live it down, will I?”

“Your superstitions are adorable, love. They’ve kept me alive so far, so who am I to complain about your meticulous over-planning? Although,” Eames nuzzled right up against Arthur and whispered into the curve of his ear, “if we had everything all settled, whyever did you allow me to flirt my way through that un-igloo-like igloo and blow half my daily snack fund just to bruise your gorgeous arse?”

Arthur turned away for a moment, looked upwards as if asking the heavens for strength, and turned back, “You had a plan once they were on the move. You were so determined and I-”

“Yes, petal?”

“I thought it might be romantic. I’ve never skated before.” Arthur rushed out quietly, as if it pained him to give voice to these words.

Eames’ eyes widened as he gushed, “Oh Arthur, you soppy thing. Here I am thinking I’m the romantic.”

“Shut it.”

Eames waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “I can show you some moves.” He did a quick mental runthrough of their schedule for the following day before imploring, “Let’s go back tomorrow. I’ll teach you!”

“What happened to the ‘last night in the states’ ruse, we can’t go back. And besides, I’ve decided it’s more enjoyable as a spectator sport, preferably within the confines of a nice heated room where my hands and face will not freeze off. Not at all cold nor bruising that way, a great improvement.”

Eames had looked as if he were about to protest when they reached their stop at 116th street. Arthur yanked his beloved scarf back up over the lower half of his face and Eames took up his other hand as they stepped out of the dingy subway car and headed towards the turnstiles to the exit. Six o’clock in early January was quite dark, which made it seem colder and later than it was.

They made it to their goal in good time. The two excitedly stocked up on as many of each item that was still available as permitted by the per-customer limits and headed back off to Eames’ hotel room eight frigid blocks away. He did keep an apartment here under another alias, but it was just bad business to stay there on a job. Provided this job wrapped itself up in a neat little bow like Arthur anticipated it would, they would be done in the next three days.

As they tucked in to their bounty, Arthur considered creating a must-have list for vetting jobs which included restricting the northern hemisphere to only the warmer months of the year and Eames considered whether or not Serendipity would make an exception for them before they left if he were to reserve their ridiculous thousand dollar sundae while trying to book a table. It would be a shame to deprive Arthur from passing judgment on their hot chocolate offerings while it was still was the appropriate season. It was a joy to witness how Arthur could so articulately strip things down and rip them apart.

They could always come back to New York. The same could not be said for all the cities they’d been to. They had an upcoming opening in their respective calendars towards the end of May and into June. Arthur did particularly enjoy the view of the East River from Eames’ Eames chaise there and he certainly had no regrets about missing the end of skating season before they’d be able to return. The bruised coccyx and frozen extremities put a bit of a damper on the otherwise adorable scene which was the two of them snuggled up to watch ‘The Cutting Edge’ over their remaining pastry haul, just another day in the life of their increasingly comfortable domesticity.

**Author's Note:**

> All of the mentioned establishments are real places that you can visit. If you'd like to share in their culinary experience, the specific places mentioned were Jacques Torres, Bluebottle, La Maison de Chocolat, and 'wichcraft at Rockefeller Plaza and 49th, Sweet&Sara in LIC Queens, Levain on Frederick Douglass Boulevard (not the ones closer to Central Park West unless you want to wait on a very long line in the cold), Serendipity 3 on East 60th, Katz's on East Houston, Moonstruck Eatery on East 58th.


End file.
